Why I shall now die for a Free and Independent England

By Mike James in Germany – June 7, 2012

It is happening more quickly than I anticipated.
On 27 May 2012, I informed my chief public servant, my nominal slave, David Cameron, that I would commence a hunger strike to enforce the overwhelming desires of my own people, more especially the Freeborn English, as a means of demonstrating to this mere third-rate butler the decades-long cries of my own folk for a referendum by October 30 at the latest as to whether or not my people wish to remain within the illegal, unlawful and undemocratic Soviet European Union.
No response.
This gentleman, the First Minister of the British Crown, a corrupt entity that serves only to guarantee and protect the integrity of a small parasitic state-within-a-state subsection of my nation, has, for reasons known only to himself, refused to comply with my demands as a Freeborn Englishman to obey my injunction for such a referendum. This insolent and disobedient man, ostensibly elected to serve my own people, has not found it within himself to reply to his Master by either post or e-mail.
I have been advised by many to live and fight another day. But I know fine well that the likes of Clegg, Cameron, Miliband and all the Fabianist leaders of Britain’s official system parties, including the entire Royal Family, are members of “Common Purpose”, a pro-Soviet EU synthesis of Socialism and Corporate-Fascism.
I love my nation, England. I am prepared to fight and die for my people. I would willingly put my very life on the line to save one indigenous Englishman or Englishwoman from harm’s way. Whether Geordies, Yorkies, Lankies, Brummies, Scousers, Cornies, Avonites, Home Counties’ Toffs and aristocrats, they are my people. We disagree. I have had some of them beat the shit out of me and vice versa. But I love the bastards.
I demand that my people be set free. I am a Celt and a fighter, but at my age I have neither the means nor the ability to physically take by the scruff of their necks every traitor in Whitehall and Westminster and hang them ingloriously from the tallest lampposts in London.
All I can do, banned forever and a day as I am by the British Consulate in Germany from returning to my beloved nation, where I would physically take up arms and murder every English-hating traitor in Parliament, is protest the powerlessness of my people by rescinding my own power to feed myself. Thus far, I have been on a hunger strike for over 12 days and, believe me, it’s not exactly a whole heap of laughs.
Yesterday, I collapsed in the Houiller-Platz, fortunately close to my own home, and was rescued by a neighbour. Germans look out for one another. Had Cameron found me, no doubt he would have kicked me in the teeth.
Forget the hunger. Let’s talk about the insufferable cramps, the diarrhoea, the loss of concentration, the fatigue, the ataxia, the overwhelming sadness, the inability to walk. Yet the British Crown has always known, in contravention of the Malta Agreement, how to slap down D-notices on hunger strikers and deal with them as Untermenschen. Hence not one word of my fight within the mainstream media.
Thousands of our Irish brethren died by means of brutality and neglect because the only way they could resist the demonic purple robes (and robbery) of the anti-English, anti-Celtic, British Crown was by means of hunger-striking.
I’m not talking about half-bred balding imbeciles such as the Windsors. The assholes you worship are the sort of scum you’ll find floating in your bathtub lest you forget to bathe yourself for a week. When I talk about the British Crown, I mean the City of London. Not the people of London. I’m talking money. Dirty money. So filthy you would not believe its ability to contaminate.
So what the heck? A wee northern English fella, banned from ever returning to England, throws a wobbler and decides to undertake a hunger strike in order to enforce the cherished wishes of his people to withdraw from the parasitic and Satanic European Union. No problem. The English-hating mainstream media require neither a governmental advisory nor a D-notice. It’s the “silly season”, folks (as it always is in England, no matter the time of year). The Olympics, Wimbledon, strawberries and cream for the chattering classes. So who gives a fuck? One dead Englishman. No big deal.
The problem that Mr Cameron has is this. He’s screwing with me, and nobody, absolutely nobody, picks a fight with this son of a bitch and wins. I shall not tolerate my people being governed by Public School Wankers who somehow believe that they have a natural right to abuse Natural Law in pursuit of their own worldly careers at the expense of indigenous hard-working Englishmen and Englishwomen.
I can always laugh at and even forgive psychopathic liars such as Tony Blair. But I will not tolerate cowards.
Cameron is about twice my size; yet I tell you this: should this weakling ever roll-up his shirt sleeves and challenge me to a fight in the streets, I would knock seven shades of crap out of the bastard for his refusal to set my people free. The British Prime Minister. A man? Really? I call him out as a traitor, a nancy boy and a quisling to a hugely unpopular European Soviet Union Superstate.
My people, the English, have suffered enough. We were the first colonials of a British Crown system of governance that, following the illegal dissolution of the Second Republic, once more became chattels of an imperial monster that saw in us nothing more than cannon-fodder and cheap labour.
We fought for and gave our lives to an entity fore-sworn to defend only the interests of the City of London. We were beguiled by the spectacle of royalty, not knowing that we, as ordinary Britons, were the true Kings and Queens of an Island Race blessed by God.
We were never betrayed. We betrayed ourselves.
As a Sixer in the Cub Scouts I learned how to make rope. Akela never told me how to make a hangman’s noose. Yet there is much work to be done. I swear, by God Almighty, there is not enough rope in England to hang every traitor among us.
Time to get busy, boys and girls.

Michael James, an English republican patriot, is a blacklisted former freelance journalist resident in Zionist-occupied Germany since 1992 with additional long-haul stays in East Africa, Poland and Switzerland. He advocates a Leaderless Resistance to destroy the Soviet European Union and prays for a free and independent England, shorn of all alliances with the EU, UK, NATO, the UN, WTO, IMF, Israel and any other treacherous international cabal or entity.

Mike James, an Englishman, is a former freelance journalist resident in Germany since 1992 with additional long-haul stays in East Africa, Poland and Switzerland

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